Marque smiled at him. “I understand you’re here to apply for a job?”

“Oh! Yes, of course.” He moved around from the back of the bar and stood next to Marque, remembering why he’d come here. “I’d very much like to find employment in your establishment.”

Marque gazed at him consideringly as he walked toward the long sofa next to the fireplace, taking another sip of his drink as he sat down and made himself comfortable. Tam moved to sit at the other end of the couch, tucking one foot up underneath himself.

“Have you ever traded sex for money before?” Marque asked.

“Well, no. Not for money.” Tam made a face. “That always seemed a little déclassé, if you know what I mean.”

“And yet you’re here asking for work now?”

“As it turns out, déclassé is exactly what I’m into at the moment.” He hesitated, wondering if he’d said too much. But Marque’s gaze continued to be coolly evaluating, without any kind of censure. “Not that there’s anything wrong with whoring per se. I mean, it’s all perfectly legit, right? No legal complications?” It would have made the job even more appealing if there were, but he didn’t say that part out loud. He was still so pissed at his old man that he was willing to do just about anything to shrug off the Temetria name. “It’s just got a reputation. A little seedy, maybe a little sordid.”

“A seedy occupation appeals to you?”

“Sure it does.” He leaned forward, tightening his fingers around his glass. “But there’s more to it than that. It’s different here. I mean, a big, ancient place like this one, with this House’s reputation? It’s kind of seedy and glamorous all at the same time.”

Marque’s mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. “I see. So you’re attracted to the glamour of it all.”

“Well, no. Not exactly.” Best to quash those kinds of notions right at the start. “It’s the seediness that appeals to me, pure and simple. I mean, I’m not proud. I’ll do whatever you want me to do to make the customers happy. I’m looking forward to it, actually.” He only wished his father could find out someday what vocation he’d chosen to pursue; he was tempted to send him a postcard detailing that very thing, except that he wasn’t near brave enough to do it.